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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814182">time, curious time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DFP/pseuds/DFP'>DFP</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>call it what you want [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, honour your ancestors by getting absolutely railed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:07:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DFP/pseuds/DFP</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Shuuichi looks a wreck; hair knotted up by Seiji’s fingers, mouth swollen red, eyes glassy, his clothes all rumpled and sweaty. Seiji feels a proprietary heat bloom in his navel and wind up to his heart, which clenches painfully. He has to fight down the impulse to shriek "Mine!" like a spoiled, overgrown child. Instead he says,</p><p>“Did you remember to pay the hydro bill?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Matoba Seiji/Natori Shuuichi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>call it what you want [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>time, curious time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seiji looks at what remains of the rice at the bottom of the pot and scowls. A congealed burnt mass glowers in return.</p><p>In the evening gloom the condo looms empty, a warm, hollow shell around his solitary form. Dark wood floors, whitewashed walls, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the sleepy city and then, in the distance, the forest a flurry of naked trees clawing at the low, grey sky.</p><p>There’s a discarded sweater flung over the back of the couch and a pair of socks underneath it. A splay of papers across the coffee table is held in place by three abandoned mugs, the front door is cluttered with kicked-off shoes and boots. There’s a reasonable winter coat collapsed on the floor and an arctic-duty coat hung primly by the door.</p><p>The kitchen counters are vaguely sticky all over, the garbage overflows with takeout containers, the sink is home to the single set of cutlery and bowl that Seiji’s been using and rinsing out.</p><p>Shuuichi’s been gone for six weeks. Seiji is doing great, thanks for asking.</p><p>Seiji chucks the rice—pot and all—into the garbage and picks up the phone. Home cooked meals are overrated, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m home!” Shuuichi calls from the entryway, out of sight. Seiji’s heart leaps at his voice, thundering hard in his chest. He has to take a steadying breath before he can call back,</p><p>“Welcome home,” he sounds embarrassingly eager to his own ears. There’s the general clatter of Shuuichi doffing his jacket, knocking over his suitcase and dropping his keys, and then the man himself appears around the corner.</p><p>His golden blond hair has been fluffed by the wind, which has also given his cheeks the sweet pink glow they often have in the winter. His skin is tanned gold beyond what the season would allow, his eyes catch Seiji’s immediately and crinkle with his smile. He’s heart-stoppingly handsome, as usual.  </p><p>Seiji feels a smile pull at his own mouth and allows it. He stays perched on a stool at the kitchen island, the better to drink in Shuuichi as he approaches.</p><p>Shuuichi squints around the kitchen as he walks towards him, “Did you cook?”</p><p>“No,” Seiji replies stonily, even though the smell of burnt rice is thick in the air, “I ordered in,”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Shuuichi comes around the island, wraps his arms around him from behind, “I like that,” he says, then kisses the side of Seiji’s neck.</p><p>“You like everything I do,” Seiji says, hoping to cover the shiver that runs down his spine.</p><p>Shuuichi hums, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, “True. How long til the food gets here?”</p><p>Seiji glances at the clock in the stove, “Maybe twenty minutes, at least,”</p><p>Shuuichi licks him, “D’you think I could get you off before then?”</p><p>A bolt of heat rushes through Seiji at the words, a hot twisting in his navel. “No,” he replies, testily. Shuuichi spins the stool around and plants his hands on the counter on either side of Seiji, forcing their faces close. He looks at him, eyes hot, mouth cocked in a half-smile. Seiji finds he cannot breathe.</p><p>Shuuichi does get him off, and they’re on their way to a second go when Shuuichi has to pull back on his shirt and answer the door. Seiji lays on the couch, failing to catch his breath, indifferent to whether or not the delivery person can see him.</p><p>Shuuichi dumps the bag of food on the kitchen counter and glances at the thermostat,</p><p>“Did you have the temperature set this high the whole time?” He asks.</p><p>“No,” Seiji lies blithely. Shuuichi returns to stand over the couch. He trails one hand through Seiji’s hair, splayed out starkly against the white couch.</p><p>“Where were we?” He asks, voice catching, rough, in his throat. Seiji does his best to muster a look of indifference,</p><p>“You were about to take off all your clothes and suck me off,” he says. A smile and a blush bloom handsomely on Shuuichi’s face.</p><p>“Oh yeah?” He grips the hem of his shirt and lifts, peeling the material off, giving Seiji time to admire the flex of his arms, the reveal of his stomach and chest. He takes off his clothes like a model, of course. Shuuichi carries a little more weight around his middle than he used to, ten or fifteen pounds he occasionally has to slough off for roles. Seiji likes him better with the weight, and not just because dieting makes Shuuichi unbearable. He likes the softness, the proof of his body changing with age, another part of him that Seiji gets to keep to himself.</p><p>And Shuuichi carries it well, with the same blasé confidence he’s always had in his body, his good looks. Seiji has not had the same good fortune.</p><p>But Seiji is shaken from this line of thought as Shuuichi steps out of his discarded pants and promptly follows through on the rest of Seiji’s orders.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m getting too old for this kind of behaviour,” Seiji rasps, some time later, his voice strained by the variety of noises he’s been making. Shuuichi draws back and grins,</p><p>“Aw don’t say that,” he says, teasing, “You’re still a spring chicken,” Unbelievably, inconceivably, he puts his hands back on Seiji, whose oversensitive skin sends signals to his brain to tell it he’s been struck by lightning.</p><p>“You’re a demon,” Seiji hisses, even as his spine arches, improbably, towards Shuuichi’s touch. Shuuichi just smiles,</p><p>“I love it when you talk dirty to me, baby,”</p><p>Seiji whines as heat pools, against all odds, below his navel.</p><p>“You’re not allowed to go on any more shoots abroad,” he gasps.</p><p>“You missed me?” Shuuichi asks, laughingly.</p><p>“I will not survive another experience like this,” Seiji snaps—or tries to, but Shuuichi scissors his fingers inside him and his vision whites out momentarily.</p><p>“That’s not true baby. You’re made of tougher stuff than you think,” Shuuichi ghosts his lips down Seiji’s neck.</p><p>“Shuuichi—" Seiji begins to say but loses track of his thoughts as Shuuichi kisses a hungry trail across his collarbone, up his shoulder. His mouth hot and wet and greedy, “Fuck,”</p><p>“God that’s hot,” Shuuichi mumbles against Seiji’s shoulder, “I missed you,”</p><p>Seiji squirms, and not in an altogether good way. Shuuichi pulls back, a wicked smile tugging at his mouth.</p><p>“I thought of you everyday,” he says, eyes soft even as he plunges a third finger inside him, “I bought you a souvenir,”</p><p>“Shut up!” Seiji hisses.</p><p>“I did,” Shuuichi insists, like that’s the problem, “I’m so glad to be home with you,”</p><p>“Fuck me,” Seiji snarls. Shuuichi’s mouth drops open silently and he crooks his fingers inside his ass. Seiji’s back bows into it, releasing a breathy moan from his slack mouth.</p><p>“You’re too tight,” he rasps. Seiji claws a hand through his golden hair and glares,</p><p>“Good. I want it to hurt.”</p><p>Shuuichi lets out a huge breath, his expression one of desperate yearning, his eyes dark and hungry.</p><p>“I love you,” he says, all in a rush, and then replaces his hand with his cock.</p><p> </p><p>Shuuichi reheats the food and plates it while Seiji lays on the couch, slowly coming back to himself. The process is sped, somewhat, by the fact that the couch is the single most unyielding and uncomfortable piece of furniture Seiji has ever known. It’s the only furniture to survive the move from Shuuichi’s apartment; Seiji insisted upon it.</p><p>He sits up and blearily reaches for his clothes to find that they’ve disappeared. Shuuichi swoops in with a yukata slung over one arm,</p><p>“I threw em in with the laundry from my trip,” Shuuichi says before helping Seiji, unnecessarily, into the yukata. It’s a deep burgundy red, nearly brown. Seiji doesn’t remark on the colour and Shuuichi shows his gratitude by leaning in and kissing him.  Seiji relaxes into it, winding his arms around Shuuichi’s neck and holding him close. They stay like that, exploring each other thoroughly despite their long familiarity, for a while. When Shuuichi pulls back he’s noticeably flushed,</p><p>“What, trying to go for round four?”</p><p>Seiji glares at him, witheringly, “I will not have sex with you for the next seven days,”</p><p>“What?” Shuuichi pulls back, bewildered, and Seiji slips around him to make for the dining table, “You’re joking, right?”</p><p>Seiji doesn’t deign that with a response. Instead, he sits down to eat the congealed pasta, braced against a wince that starts in the base of his spine and crawls all the way up to his neck. Shuuichi fiddles with his suitcase for a minute before joining Seiji and setting down a small object on the table between them.</p><p>Seiji stares. It’s a small, cheap plastic figurine of a hula dancer, her breasts made of outsized coconut shells, her modesty barely preserved by a limp grass skirt, who sways unsteadily around her midsection.</p><p>“What.” Seiji says, flatly. Shuuichi reaches out and flicks the figurine, sending her torso swaying precariously from her little plastic hips, her expression the guileless placidity of a cow. Seiji feels his own face contort painfully around a grimace.</p><p>“Souvenir,” Shuuichi says, simply. Seiji bends the fork in his grip out of shape.</p><p>“You’re an incorrigible pervert,” he says. Shuuichi leans over and plants a wet kiss on Seiji’s temple,</p><p>“Missed you too,” he says, cheerfully.</p><p>_______</p><p>Seiji is officially retired, Shuuichi is retired-except-when-Natsume-calls. All the same, they make sure to unplug the phone while they sleep. But now Seiji is faced with the question of how to conceive of himself as something other than the clan.</p><p>Seiji has never had much use for mirrors. He’s spent most of his life thinking of his body as convenient storage for his spiritual power, a stand-in for the entire Matoba clan. What use was a body, anyway? <em>I can think of a few uses,</em> a voice awfully like Shuuichi’s remarks dryly in the back of his mind.</p><p>There’s a full-length mirror in the bedroom that Shuuichi sometimes looks in when he’s getting dressed. In Seiji’s mind that corner of the bedroom is a black hole, but he makes himself sit on the floor in front of it and take off his eyepatch. Skittishly, as if afraid of what might happen, he looks his reflection in the eye. He’s sort of surprised at what he sees—a gaunt face, skin as white as milk, thin lips a slash above a sharp chin. He touches a hand to the straight-shorn ends of his hair, tickling his collarbones.</p><p>The face Seiji is most familiar with is Shuuichi’s so in comparison, naturally, his own falls quite short. Seiji tilts his chin at the mirror, as if in challenge, and watches with morbid curiousity the flex of tendons in his neck, the throb of a muscle in his jaw as his teeth clench. He leans in closer until his own face dominates his field of view and confirms his suspicions.</p><p>Wrinkles have begun to fan out around his good eye, a spiderweb of lines circling the socket of his eye like sharks. A slight crease molds around the corner of his mouth, when he frowns a divot gouges the skin between his brows. His right eye will never develop wrinkles; frozen, immortal, in the snarl of scar tissue that cradles it. He won’t age on that half of his face, but it’s far from eternal youth. Up close, it barely looks like skin at all. Removed of context, the right half of his face seems to be composed of veins of granite, of petrified wood.</p><p>Seiji is slowly becoming accustomed to the idea of aging, but it’s an uphill climb. He never really thought he’d live to see the far side of thirty; being head of the Matoba clan seemed, based on the evidence, a guarantee to die young. In previous centuries almost any attack from a youkai could prove fatal—even a relatively minor injury, like Seiji’s, could fester and rot. The Matoba history is littered with the corpses of their leaders.</p><p>Seiji’s mother didn’t make it to forty. It’s difficult to grasp the idea that Seiji might.</p><p>Seiji turns sharply to glare at Shuuichi, standing guiltily in the doorway, holding a slim stack of mail. He does a terrible job of pretending to have not caught Seiji inspecting his reflection. His attention is too sharp, focused just over Seiji’s shoulder. Seiji watches Shuuichi silently work his jaw, chewing questions he won’t dare ask.</p><p>Eventually, Shuuichi lifts the pile of mail in hand vaguely and moves to sit on the bed, “Contract came in for my next gig,” he says with a forced casualness as subtle as a neon sign.</p><p>“Oh?” Seiji rises to his feet, ignoring a mild twinge in his knee, and joins Shuuichi on the bed. Shuuichi passes him a couple envelopes addressed to him, which Seiji tosses onto the side table as he lays down. Shuuichi waves a sheaf of legal paper at Seiji as if it means anything to him,</p><p>“Supporting role on a teen drama,” he announces, then tosses it aside and stretches out on the bed next to Seiji, who looks to him in surprise,</p><p>“<em>Teen</em> drama?” he echoes, letting disbelief saturate the words. Shuuichi pulls a face at him,</p><p>“The lead’s older brother,” he says. Seiji rolls on top of Shuuichi and straddles his waist, looks down at him with a critical eye. Strong jaw, dried-blood eyes, lush, smiling mouth. Seiji grips Shuuichi’s wrists and plants them onto the bed above his head.</p><p>“I’m surprised you’re still being offered those roles,” Seiji drawls, “Old man,”</p><p>Shuuichi looks up at him with a silly little smile on his face as Seiji leans in close to inspect Shuuichi’s face. Besides the faintest crinkles around his eyes his skin refuses to betray his age. A faint memory of his tan still clings from his trip, warming his complexion, making his red eyes glow.</p><p>Seiji closes the distance to claim Shuuichi’s mouth. His bitterness must leak through in the way he digs his teeth into Shuuichi’s lip, but Shuuichi kisses him back eagerly all the same. They begin to move against each other; Seiji with lazy rolls of his hips, Shuuichi in more agitated jerks against him. Heat blooms below Seiji’s navel, sends pleasant jolts up his spine as they grind together.</p><p>“Shall we move along?” Seiji drawls, beginning to sit back to attack Shuuichi’s clothes. Shuuichi usually has the lead in these things, and so doesn’t spend nearly enough time naked for Seiji’s tastes—which definitely lean more towards constant nudity—but Shuuichi makes a strange, aborted move, and gasps;</p><p>“I like it,”</p><p>Seiji frowns down at him,</p><p>“Which part?” He asks. Shuuichi blinks up at him several times, and then slowly forms his hands into loose fists. He’s left them above his head, which suddenly feels very poignant to Seiji.</p><p>“You holding me down. Being dressed, I guess, being desperate for it,” he sucks his lower lip in thought, “You. I like anything with you,”</p><p>Seiji’s chest constricts at the raw honesty of the words and heat pools in his belly at how horny Shuuichi looks, from barely anything at all. Slowly, Seiji puts his hands back around Shuuichi’s wrists, presses him down into the bed.</p><p>“You could come from this?” Seiji clarifies. Shuuichi lets loose a breath and looks simultaneously thrilled at the idea and desperate for more.</p><p>“Yeah,” he rasps. Well <em>that’s</em> interesting.</p><p>“Like this?” Seiji punctuates his question by grinding down into him, “In your pants, like you’re sixteen?”</p><p>Shuuichi flushes red and squirms. His pupils are blown so large his eyes look black.</p><p>“Yeah—yes,”</p><p>“You’re so desperate for it,” Seiji says, in mock-wonder, “You’ll take anything you can get,”</p><p>Shuuichi makes a garbled sound, a half-swallowed groan. His eyes squeeze shut. His blush, against all odds, gets deeper.<em> I love it when you talk dirty to me</em>, he had said, and Seiji had thought it was only a joke. But maybe—</p><p>“Won’t you?” Seiji asks, grinding down onto him, gripping his wrists tighter.</p><p>“Anything, Seiji,” he gasps, bucking up into him. Seiji can’t help a small, satisfied, smile from curling his lips. He bends down and kisses Shuuichi, who moans loud enough to cover Seiji’s own eager noise. He continues to roll his hips leisurely as he licks into Shuuichi’s mouth, stoking a low, constant heat that winds round the base of his spine.</p><p>“Look at you,” Seiji breathes. It’s something Shuuichi has said to him countless times, so he’s aware of its effect, “I could do whatever I wanted, and you’d be grateful for it,”</p><p>Shuuichi makes a sound almost like a sob, “I would,” he manages to say.</p><p>“I could fuck you—" Whatever other nonsense Seiji had been about to say is cut off as Shuuichi, with a desperate sort of eagerness, says,</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,”</p><p>Seiji pauses and blinks down at him, flushed and sweaty and a fucking mess beneath him.</p><p>“What, really?” Seiji asks, startled. Shuuichi pries his eyes open and looks back up at him, dazed but sincere,</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. Seiji stares down at him. They’ve never—Seiji’s never really thought about it. He hadn’t— “I want to do everything with you,”</p><p>Seiji experiences a rush of heat so intense it nearly hurts. He swallows down a gasp, trying to temper his response. He realizes, wildly, that now <em>he’s</em> at risk of coming in his pants.</p><p>“You really are desperate,” Seiji forces out of his numb mouth. Shuuichi looks up at him, horny and stupid,</p><p>“Yeah,”</p><p>Seiji thinks for another moment and then grinds down, eliciting a breathy moan from Shuuichi.</p><p>“Well, do you want me to fuck your face before or after you cum in your pants?”</p><p>Shuuichi looks up at him like he’s been slapped, “Before,” he says, and then groans, “Now, <em>please</em>—Seiji—now,”</p><p>It takes some rearranging; Shuuichi has to slide down the bed and Seiji shuffles up his body, knees shoved tight into Shuuichi’s armpits. But it’s worth it for the way Shuuichi licks his lips when Seiji pulls his cock out of his track pants, the way he groans as Seiji shoves it against his lips.</p><p>“Oh, Shuuichi,” Seiji sighs as his cock slides into Shuuichi’s mouth, “So good for me,” He grips Shuuichi’s wrists once more and presses them to the mattress above his head. Shuuichi’s tongue lathes at the underside of Seiji’s cock and he groans in response.</p><p>“Ah, fuck, ah, signal if you need me to stop,” Seiji says. Shuuichi groans around him which he takes as assent. Seiji starts to thrust, shallow, short jerks of his hips. He’s not interested in overwhelming Shuuichi—his favourite part of being sucked off by him is the way he licks and sucks and even nibbles on Seiji’s cock, like he loves the taste.</p><p>“Shuuichi,” he says, dumbstruck from how good it feels, then rallies; “You want to be fucked?” He thrusts a little deeper, eliciting a choked sound and then more desperate licks to his cock as he withdraws.</p><p>“Good,” Seiji says, somewhat dazed. He can’t see Shuuichi’s face this way, which is a shame. He stares at his hands, instead, pinned to the bed in loose fists. He fucks into Shuuichi’s mouth shallowly, so hot and wet and goddamn amazing he can feel himself quickly unraveling.</p><p>“If you’re good then maybe I’ll fuck you, okay?” Seiji hears himself say. Shuuichi moans deeply around his cock and it’s all he can do to not thrust hard into that feeling, “Be good for me, Shuuichi,”</p><p>Shuuichi makes a loud, desperate noise and snaps his fingers. Seiji withdraws, sitting up and releasing his hands, to look down at Shuuichi’s face—and fuck him, he looks incredible. Drool smears his swollen lips and chin, his eyes hot and glazed over, feverish. But Seiji barely has the time to admire because Shuuichi is grabbing him by the waist and throwing him onto the bed and crawling between his thighs. Shuuichi swallows Seiji’s cock down so deep he bumps the back of his throat. Seiji makes an undignified sound and uses every ounce of self-control to not thrust up into him. Shuuichi pulls off and looks up at him with blown out eyes,</p><p>“Seiji,” he says, nearly whines, “Please,”</p><p>“Please what?” Seiji manages to ask despite the stars dancing in his vision.</p><p>“Please don’t hold back,”</p><p>“Well. Since you asked nicely,” Seiji replies, mouth dry. This time when Shuuichi sucks him down Seiji snaps his hips up into it, driving his cock into that welcoming heat. Shuuichi moans around him, sending electric jolts all the way down to Seiji’s toes, which curl into the bedsheet. <em>We’re going to have to wash the sheets</em>, he thinks, idly, winding his fingers through Shuuichi’s hair to hold his head in place as he fucks into his mouth.</p><p>It’s wet and sloppy and so, so good. Shuuichi groans around his cock, his handsome face flushed and messy. Seiji feels a hot clench in his abdomen, his skin tight and buzzing all over. He watches Shuuichi greedily fuck his mouth down onto his cock and makes a desperate noise as his body floods with overwhelming heat.</p><p>Seiji can’t even muster a warning, just snaps his hips up and holds Shuuichi’s face close as his orgasm is wrenched from him with a gasp. He’s vaguely aware of Shuuichi swallowing around him, choking slightly, pulling off and breathing damp gasps of air against Seiji’s skin, but most of his senses are so swarmed by a warm, fizzy sensation that it’s hard to focus.</p><p>Shuuichi pulls himself up Seiji’s body and inelegantly slots their mouths together. Seiji’s arms wind around his back, his thighs shift to cradle his hips and he kisses Shuuichi lazily, clutching him close. He licks the taste of his own semen from Shuuichi’s tongue, which is somehow both gross and arousing (arousing because it’s gross?), and slides a hand between them to touch Shuuichi’s crotch but finds it damp. He pulls back from the kiss to ask,</p><p>“What did it?” All curiosity. Shuuichi stares down at him, red-faced.</p><p>“I mean—it was all really hot,” he says, his voice gravel thanks to Seiji’s cock.</p><p>“Oh?” Seiji smirks, smoothing back the hair from Shuuichi’s uncreased brow, “So easy to please,”</p><p>“Well, let it never be said I am anything but easy,” Shuuichi replies, wryly. He presses his mouth gently to Seiji’s, who opens willingly to his touch. They kiss sedately, almost chastely, before Shuuichi withdraws and looks at him with soft red eyes.</p><p>“So—d’you want to? Fuck me, I mean?” Shuuichi asks, trying hard to sound indifferent. Seiji pretends to think it over,</p><p>“Yes, but not now,” he combs his fingers through Shuuichi’s hair, “I like having something to lord over you,”</p><p>Shuuichi laughs and then groans in exaggerated dismay, dropping his head into the crook of Seiji’s neck.</p><p>“Oh that’s alright, I think I like being lorded over by you,” he says. Seiji feels a hot, curious jolt in his navel in response. He jabs Shuuichi in the side,</p><p>“Get up. We’ve got to do laundry,” he says. Shuuichi sighs but rolls off him readily. He looks a wreck; hair knotted up by Seiji’s fingers, mouth swollen red, eyes glassy, his clothes all rumpled and sweaty. Seiji feels a proprietary heat bloom in his navel and wind up to his heart, which clenches painfully. He has to fight down the impulse to shriek <em>Mine! </em>like a spoiled, overgrown child. Instead he says,</p><p>“Did you remember to pay the hydro bill?”</p><p>_______</p><p>They wash the sheets, they eat frozen vegetables thawed over leftover rice for dinner, they drink a bottle of wine staring out at the city lights, saying not much at all. Seiji watches, ambivalent, as Shuuichi meticulously checks off his seven-step beauty routine. They spit out their toothpaste into the same sink and lay down in freshly washed sheets.</p><p>Seiji’s heart beats like an animal caged, pacing at the bars. He tells himself to relax but can’t help but feel that there is some great terror, perched just behind him waiting to strike.</p><p>How has he been allowed the privilege of fretting over wrinkles when his ancestors died in the mud, limbs missing, desperately protecting their right eye, when his mother was denied the simple pleasures of parenthood? Seiji doesn’t even have the dignity to procreate.</p><p>Shuuichi rolls over and throws his arm around Seiji, plastering them front to back.</p><p>“You’re thinking too loudly,” Shuuichi mumbles against the back of Seiji’s neck. He shifts his hand so his palm presses directly over Seiji’s fretful heart. Seiji doesn’t bother responding because Shuuichi promptly falls asleep.</p><p>Not long after, Seiji follows, lulled by the soft touch of Shuuichi’s breath on his skin and the slow, peaceful thud of his heart against his spine.</p><p>_______</p><p>Seiji spends about half the work week, on average, down at the Matoba estate, speaking with the new clan leader. <em>Advising</em>, technically, though they—like any pair of reputable exorcists—mostly just talk shit about every other exorcist in the business.</p><p>Never in living memory had a clan leader retired. Most people treated Seiji with either suspicion or indulgence—besides Nanase who acted mostly as if he were still in charge—though it seemed the youkai after the Matobas respected the chain of command and had recently attacked the new leader; Seiji hadn’t had to fight it off in nearly a year. He was probably going soft.</p><p>Nui was eager to show off her new scars—a track like a fork of lightning that ran down her neck and shoulder—and they traded barbs over who had fared better in their direct confrontations with the creature. Nui was suspicious, two-faced, and callous, and of course she was; Seiji had trained her himself for four years. His chest swelled with what might’ve been pride as she recalled a petty undermining of some minor exorcist family.</p><p>Seiji was driven home by a dour-faced servant. He quite missed being shepherded all over the place in sleek black cars and wondered if he could convince Nanase to assign a driver to his service again. Shuuichi had a table-read for his new project, so Seiji expects to return to an empty condo. When, instead, he opens the front door to reveal an aura of soft candlelight he’s swamped by a disorienting confusion.</p><p>Had Natsume needed help with some obscure ritual? No, Shuuichi avoided fire in his spiritual workings (see: paper’s flammability). Had Shuuichi become possessed again? No, Seiji would’ve sensed it… probably. Had he invited his coworkers back to their place for drinks? Not unless he had gone insane or was possessed (see previous).</p><p>Shuuichi appears in the entryway. He’s still dressed for work, in his second-best pair of slacks, a sleek, butter-soft white button up tucked in neatly, and his nice dress socks. Seiji had never heard of dress socks before Shuuichi, but now he can recognize them on his feet from three meters away. Seiji is still frozen in the doorway, his keys in hand, his jacket still on.</p><p>“I’m home,” Seiji says, with great hesitance. Shuuichi smiles and comes forward to help Seiji out of his coat.</p><p>“Welcome home,” he replies, “We finished ahead of schedule, so I was able to skip social hour,”</p><p>‘Social hour’ was what Shuuichi called the semi-mandatory round of drinks that seemed to follow even a half-hour’s work in his industry. Seiji knew Shuuichi detested it, but he couldn’t yet tell if he was good at it; the socializing, the schmoozing. To Seiji, Shuuichi’s behaviour around his coworkers came across as flimsy and false, but they all seemed to like him well enough.</p><p>“And you decided to set the apartment on fire, I see,” Seiji says, dryly, deciding that the odds of Shuuichi being possessed had gone down remarkably.</p><p>Shuuichi smiles at him strangely, “Not quite. Are you hungry?”</p><p>“I ate on the way,” Seiji replies, following Shuuichi down the short hall to where it opened up into the rest of the apartment. Seiji’s brow furrows as he’s faced with approximately a dozen candles arranged throughout the space.</p><p>A small cluster of slim tapers perch on one corner of the kitchen island, an enormous five-wick block sits on the floor near the couch, the rest arranged on the coffee table alongside a bottle of wine and two glasses. With all the lights off, the apartment is suffused in a gentle, warm glow.</p><p>Shuuichi heads for the couch and Seiji follows hesitantly. He perches on the edge of the couch beside Shuuichi, who pours two glasses of wine and hands one to Seiji, who watches him the entire time with undisguised confusion crinkling his brow. Had something happened? Had someone died? Seiji tries and fails to think of someone who he’d be torn up about dying. Was Shuuichi going to try to break up with him again?</p><p>Shuuichi sighs and shoots him a look that says he can see where Seiji’s train of thought is going.</p><p>“Seiji,” Shuuichi says, exasperated, “I’m trying to romance you,”</p><p>“Why?” Seiji asks, bewildered. Shuuichi pulls at face at him like he’s being purposefully obtuse,</p><p>“Because I love you and I want to show you,” he says, with the careful enunciation of someone speaking to a child. Seiji looks down at the glass of wine in hand, then to the arrangement of candles on the coffee table.</p><p>“Do you want to do something with the hot wax? I’m open to it, but we should probably start on a smaller—”</p><p>“No!” Shuuichi splutters, his face going red. Seiji cocks a brow at him, unconvinced, and Shuuichi amends, “Well, I won’t pretend it hadn’t crossed my mind and if you wanted to try it…” he trails off and gives his head a small shake, “It’s not a sex thing.”</p><p>“It’s not?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>, Seiji—you’re laughing at me!” Shuuichi exclaims. Seiji presses his fingers to his mouth, though he can’t quite smother his smile, and a raspy chuckle escapes him. Shuuichi looks at him, torn between exasperation and a fondness so sweet it makes Seiji’s ribs ache, “Well, then it was worth it,”</p><p>Seiji sips his wine and glances around the darkened room. Shuuichi must’ve cleaned—there’s none of the usual detritus on the counters, no dishes in the sink, and the hardwood floors reflect the candlelight in glossy smears. He really doesn’t understand what has moved Shuuichi to do such an inscrutable thing, and his confusion makes him suspicious and tense, like a cornered animal. Seiji squints at Shuuichi, bathed in golden light,</p><p>“I love you, too,” Seiji says. A brilliant smile blooms on Shuuichi’s face, his eyes crinkling from the force of it. <em>Ah, that’s it then,</em> he thinks, somewhat satisfied. Shuuichi did this… strange, performative… thing, in exchange for hearing those words from Seiji. It doesn’t seem a fair trade, weighed more in Shuuichi’s favour, but that’s easily remedied.</p><p>Seiji downs his wine in three large gulps and sets the glass aside. He sits up on his knees, hikes up his yukata, and swings one leg over Shuuichi, settling his hands on his shoulders and his ass on his lap. Shuuichi looks up at him, his expression unbearably soft.</p><p>“It’s a sex thing now,” Seiji announces. Shuuichi blinks several times and then tosses back his own wine. Seiji takes the glass from him and places it on the coffee table.</p><p>“Great—good, I mean—” Shuuichi places his hands on Seiji’s waist and squeezes tight, a hot rush shoots down Seiji’s spine, “Whatever you want,”</p><p>Seiji raises one brow and cocks his chin, a combination that never fails to bring a blush to Shuuichi’s face, “Don’t make dangerous promises,” Seiji drawls. Shuuichi’s expression slackens to his familiar punch-drunk look of arousal. Seiji shifts against him, feels a hardness in Shuuichi’s slacks and smirks, “It <em>is</em> a sex thing,”</p><p>“No!” Shuuichi groans, “You’re impossible,”</p><p>“I’m told it’s one of my charms,” Seiji manages to say before Shuuichi yanks him down into a bruising kiss, and then most sensible language flees him.</p><p>_______</p><p>Seiji has always worn funeral blacks. If there had once been a reason behind the choice it was forgotten and now he dressed that way mostly out of long standing habit.</p><p>His mother had often worn elaborate costumes of red, gold, and black, with pins in her hair that dripped with precious stones. The overall effect was often one of a sword decorated in gold-gilt; the jewels did not distract from the danger.</p><p>Lately, Shuuichi’s been introducing colour into Seiji’s wardrobe. He does so slowly, and indirectly, as if approaching a small, frightened animal. He began with a yukata made of a navy blue so dark it seemed black outside of direct light, then a hooded sweatshirt of a deep brown, followed by an assortment of black t-shirts with singular thick stripes of colour across the shoulders. Seiji has worn, or not worn, these new clothes without comment. But now, he opens their closet and is faced with an avoidably gauche new addition.</p><p>It’s a yukata of dark emerald green, the obi a touch lighter, which on its own is… fine. But the material is patterned with vaguely geometric shapes in two shades of complimentary yellow. Seiji is momentarily frozen in baffled offense.</p><p>He turns from the garment and says, “Shuuichi.”</p><p>Shuuichi’s blond head pops around the doorframe and he smiles ruefully, “I know, it’s too much isn’t it?” He says, as shamelessly as if he hadn’t been waging a small, slow war on Seiji’s clothes.</p><p>“Do you have a problem with black?” Seiji asks, removing the offending garment from its hanger and dropping it into a crumpled pile on the floor of the closet.</p><p>“No,” Shuuichi comes into the room properly and touches a reverent hand to Seiji’s hair. Seiji’s mouth twists, unsatisfied.</p><p>“I prefer it,” he says, and then touches a hand to Shuuichi’s hair in return, “But I’ll wear anything you’d like so long as you ask,”</p><p>Shuuichi squints at him, his face carefully blank in the way that meant Seiji had said or done something he found erotic but didn’t want to show it, “Anything?”</p><p>Seiji feels a warmth pool low in his stomach as his heart squeezes in trepidation, but he makes his mouth say, “Sure,” as if it is easy.</p><p>“Yeah? Short-shorts, impractical underwear? Maybe a corset?” Shuuichi pulls Seiji in flush, combs his fingers through his hair, “A frilly little skirt?”</p><p>“Not all at once, I hope,” Seiji says, wryly. Shuuichi thinks for a moment and then says, definitively,</p><p>“A black minidress,”</p><p>“You’re getting worked up,” Seiji remarks, coolly. Shuuichi smiles and then reels Seiji into a filthy kiss, all tongue and teeth and need. Seiji’s entire body flushes hot, so immediately he gets dizzy. Shuuichi holds him steady, one hand on the back of his neck, the other his waist, and absolutely devours him.</p><p>Seiji breaks away and says, with shamefully little heat, “You’re insatiable,”</p><p>“Mmm,” Shuuichi kisses Seiji’s cheek, chin, lower lip, “Only when it comes to you, baby,”</p><p>Seiji supposes the black was practical, or at least thematically appropriate, when death was hunched on the horizon, an unavoidable beast staring him smack in the face. But if he’s going to live to develop wrinkles and back pain, the least he could do in the meantime is enjoy the frail body he’s in.</p><p> </p><p>When, a week later, Shuuichi discovers that Seiji is wearing a pair of frilly undergarments about as sturdy as spun sugar, Seiji is sure he can see the exact moment all the blood rushes from his brain, leaving behind a solitary brain cell to holler <em>Sex! Sex!</em></p><p>They fuck on the floor, right then and there, with greedy eagerness as if they are half their age. Seiji’s body aches and twinges for two full days afterwards. He supposes that is kind of the point.</p><p>_______</p><p>Seiji returns from the market with a bag of unrelated and likely useless groceries. A jar of pickled plums, a packet of crisps promising to taste like grief, a half-dozen mandarins, a small tube of hand cream. He tends to wander the aisles like a lost ghost, picking up and setting down random objects with an aimless curiousity that Shuuichi has assured him, multiple times, is a torment to the staff.</p><p>Seiji drops the bag on the kitchen counter alongside a growing pile of his own clutter. He scratches at an itch under his eyepatch, considers taking it off. Though he doesn't need to wear it, not anymore, it's strange to go without it, especially in public. Shuuichi is reading on the couch but sets his book aside and says, “Welcome home,”</p><p>Seiji flops onto the couch, which promptly tries to bounce him onto the floor, and unfastens the eyepatch, lets it float carelessly to the floor. Shuuichi very carefully doesn't react. Seiji's reaching for his own discarded book when he notices a small box on the coffee table.</p><p>“What’s that,” Seiji asks, sharp. The box looks a touch too big to hold a pen, with a sleek ribbon cutting horizontally across one corner. It looks an awful lot like a gift. Shuuichi looks horribly embarrassed when he confirms this suspicion and says,</p><p>“It’s for you,” Seiji stares at Shuuichi, then stares at the box. When he fails to act, or speak, Shuuichi picks up the box and places it into Seiji’s limp hands, “Go on, open it,” Shuuichi says, gently.</p><p>Seiji lifts the lid and is faced with a confectionary fluff of tissue, which he unfurls with great trepidation. Nestled inside is a single golden hairpin, topped with an impossibly delicate spider lily, wrought from gold and painted glossy red, dangling several drops of rubies that wink cheerfully at Seiji. Seiji thinks of his mother. Seiji thinks, with a paranoia all Matoba, <em>How did Shuuichi know?</em></p><p>“Happy birthday,” Shuuichi says, with no small amount of self-consciousness. Seiji stares at him.</p><p>“We don’t do gifts,” he says, eventually. Shuuichi reaches out and tucks a lock of Seiji’s hair behind one ear, distracted.</p><p>“Yeah, well, I thought—this year’s a lucky one,” Shuuichi says, vaguely. Seiji stares at him, trying to puzzle out his meaning. The calendar year, or his age? Nothing particularly interesting comes to mind about either, except that Seiji didn’t think he’d ever live to thirty-three—but that’s all ages past twenty-eight so it can’t be that.</p><p>“Seiji,” Shuuichi sighs, “Don’t—Don’t overthink it,”</p><p>Seiji glares, because that was exactly what he was doing. Shuuichi’s lips quirk in a small, involuntary smile.</p><p>“I don’t understand why you do these things,” Seiji complains. Shuuichi takes Seiji’s hand in his own, lifts it to press his lips softly against his knuckles. Seiji watches, determined to remain unmoved. After a long pause, Shuuichi asks,</p><p>“Why did you wear those frilly panties?” Seiji feels one of his brows shoot up, involuntary.</p><p>“Don’t be stupid,” he replies.</p><p>“Humour me,”</p><p>Seiji feels a blush rise up in his face and does his best to force it back down. He can’t quite look Shuuichi in the eye when he says, “Because you’re an incorrigible pervert,”</p><p>Shuuichi huffs a small laugh. Seiji’s hand is still pressed to his mouth, so he feels the puff of hot air acutely. Shuuichi’s lips move soundlessly against Seiji’s knuckles for a moment, and then, “You did it because you thought I’d like it. To please me,”</p><p>“Yes well, we’ve been over this, it’s not exactly a difficult thing to do,” Seiji returns, dryly. Shuuichi opens his mouth around his knuckles and bites down. But he does so softly, and he’s smiling. Seiji cannot imagine them having this conversation five years ago. Even now it’s hardly a success. Maybe this was why they had failed in the past; that they had to grow older, that their edges had to be sanded down, before they could love each other without doing each other harm.</p><p>“I thought you’d like this. Maybe not the birthday part, but…” Shuuichi drifts off vaguely and lifts his mouth from Seiji’s hand. His eyes are clear and warm when he looks at Seiji, who feels his own prickly armor begin to slough off, “I want to please you,”</p><p>Seiji blushes. Shuuichi courteously pretends he doesn’t notice.</p><p>“I do like it,” Seiji forces himself to say. The rest is easier, “Never again for birthdays. If you’re going to buy me things, you can buy me more things to wear,”</p><p>Shuuichi blinks as if in a daze and asks, “For sex?”</p><p>“Yes, for sex,” he clarifies, waspishly.</p><p>“That sounds more like a gift to myself,” Shuuichi points out.</p><p>“Yes, that’s the idea. It should be a fair exchange,” Seiji says, with exaggerated patience. Shuuichi stares at him for a long moment, expression unfathomable. Seiji stares back.</p><p>“Alright,” Shuuichi says, eventually, “Can I get ‘I love you’ for free?”</p><p>“Once,”</p><p>“<em>Once?</em>” Shuuichi echoes, startled.</p><p>“Once per year,” Seiji reluctantly clarifies.</p><p>“Four times,” Shuuichi immediately counters. Seiji scowls at him,</p><p>“Two,”</p><p>“Three and one of your most perverse sexual desires,”</p><p>“Three and <em>two</em> of my most perverse sexual desires, annually,”</p><p>“Done,” Shuuichi says, satisfied, and kisses Seiji to seal the deal. Seiji relaxes, finally, as Shuuichi threads his hands through his hair, cradles the back of his head. He could’ve driven a harder bargain, the sex stuff, especially, was more in Shuuichi’s favour anyways, but he does… he does want to please Shuuichi.</p><p>Shuuichi, who breaks the kiss to say, “Now, no pressure, but would one of your perverse sexual desires happen to include you wearing a little black dress? Because I just so happen to have one in your size,”</p><p>Seiji gives him a look that could peel paint, “No.”</p><p>He untangles himself from Shuuichi and withdraws the hairpin from the tissue. It’s weightier than it looks, polished to a shine. He gathers his hair into a ponytail and twists it up into a knot, stabbing the hairpin through. He’s never worn one before, but he used to watch his mother do the same. His body tingles with borrowed muscle memory. He has to close his eyes against an involuntary thought—<em>are you proud of me, still?</em></p><p>When he opens his eyes, Shuuichi’s expression is heartbreakingly open.</p><p>“I don’t think things should be this difficult,” Seiji mutters. Shuuichi smiles and pulls Seiji back in close, his hands warm and gentle on his waist.</p><p>“That’s alright,” he says, “We’ve got the rest of our lives to figure it out,”</p><p>“Yes,” Seiji says, “I suppose we do,”</p><p> </p><p>Seiji wears the dress. Shuuichi very nearly cries at the sight, which is more arousing to Seiji than it probably ought to be. Shuuichi fucks him thoroughly, patiently, and hungrily until Seiji is a shaking, sobbing mess in his hands. He then feeds him slices of mandarin in bed and recites lines from his teen drama to make him laugh.</p><p>He’ll still be there in the morning, and for every morning to come, and that is the great miracle of Seiji’s life.</p><p> </p>
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